


Driving on the other side (The solo remix)

by ang3lsh1



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Genderfuck, Lingerie, M/M, Masturbation, Remix, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:43:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lsh1/pseuds/ang3lsh1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Up till now, Charles is quite certain nothing would phase him, until a flippant remark left him in a much more feminine body. Leaving him to scramble for ways to deal with this new turn of events.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Driving on the other side (The solo remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pearl_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/gifts).
  * Inspired by [on the wheel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084603) by [pearl_o](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearl_o/pseuds/pearl_o). 



When it happens, Charles was completely unprepared.

The recruitment was going smoothly, well as much as it could have been given that they’d only just started the road trip, up 'till this point.

Then again, who would have been prepared for this? The mutant they were talking to took offence to a flippant remark from Charles and left him in this form, with the knowledge in his mind that it would revert back to normal, but not when.

The weight on his chest and scratch of linen over his nipples is sudden, along with the disappearance of weight between his legs. Gaining one does not compensate for the loss of the other. For one thing, who knew he’d be so reasonably endowed as a woman?

He’s thankful that for once Erik tactfully doesn’t say anything, content to carry on as they did. Instead, he chooses to devise ways to manage the new turn of events, cataloguing the need for two bedrooms, unless they were going to choose to pose as spouses, or even siblings. Perhaps spouses would be for the best. 

At first he thinks he can get through this without much change to his own daily routine. It’s not like he has changed in any way aside from the obvious physical changes, but the two anatomies can’t be different enough - clearly he’s ignoring what he’s learnt from years of biology classes that prove otherwise.

Charles carries on as usual, in his usual slacks and cardigans. There’s no sense in having to procure new garments for this predicament.

Two hours later, his back hurts. Honestly how do women manage this so well.

He caves in and leaves Erik to his own devices as he heads to procure said garments and returns from various tailors with two bags. Who knew shopping took such effort, he’s almost jealous of Raven’s ability to just shift outfits and go without garters or brassieres. Then again, he wouldn’t be in this mess if he did have said mutation.

He knows Erik is feeling vaguely anxious regarding him, doesn’t believe for a moment his nonchalant act. But he doesn’t want to face him just yet, not until he’s finally gotten his bearings in this form.

Now that Charles knows he can’t just ignore the obvious changes, why not just roll with it. With that he goes through the bags, laying out the undergarments and various outfits. Pragmatism means that he ends up with at least a weeks worth of clothing, ignoring the niggling fact that it’s likely never to be used again when he changes back. He can always leave it at the next Salvation Army.

He starts with the undergarments. Surely with the amount of time he’s spent removing these from women during Oxford, you’d expect him to know what goes where. 

Start with what you know, he thinks, pulling on the knickers, shivering slightly at the cool satin, so very different from his usual cotton boxers. It’s definitely something he could grow used to.

He fingers the brasserie lightly, tracing over the lace on the outside, feeling the whisper of satin on the inside before picking it up.

He slips his arms through the straps, leaning forward letting his breasts fall into the cups, shivering slightly at the cool brush against his nipples, before reaching back, fumbling with the clasps.

After what feels like forever he collapses on his back on the bed, red-faced. 

How on earth do women manage this with such ease? He takes a few moments to catch his breath before sitting up and touches the stockings, the material is smooth but catches slightly on his calluses. You’d think being transformed into the softer sex, that he’d have that same softness everywhere but his hands say otherwise.

He picks up the one closest to him and rolls it on slowly, the feel of cool silk sliding up his calves onto his thighs is new, it’s usually him rubbing against it as opposed to being encased in it. 

Once that is done, he stands up and immediately one stocking starts falling, prompting him to rummage through the other garments until he finds what he’s looking for. 

He pulls on the garter belt and carefully fastens the stockings on, he’s only going to be in them for a few days, but there’s no reason why he should not be meticulous just because it’s a different manner of dress that he’s accustomed to.

It doesn’t take long before curiosity gets the better of him and Charles decides to take a peek of himself in the full length mirror.

His hair has always been slightly too long, it sits well on this feminine version of him. His breasts are a nice weight, before curving into a small waist that curves out into generous hips.

It’s rather narcissistic of him, but Charles rather finds himself as a particularly attractive woman.

Whether Erik would still find him attractive in this female form is another matter. As his thoughts drift over to Erik so does it drift to other matters. How well would his breasts fit in Erik’s hands he wonders, as he raises his own up to cup his breasts through his brasserie.

The movement makes his nipples brush against the satin, combined with the cool temperature of the room, causes him to shiver at the sensation. Interest piqued, he repeats the process, this time, gently tracing over his nipples with his thumbs. The frisson of the touch sends heat pooling down at his navel. 

One hand idly traces that sensation down, rubbing at his belly, above the start of his panties, it’s a little disconcerting to not see the usual trail of hair pointing down towards his penis, where instinct is telling him that it shouldn’t be this way, untented by the arousal that he’s feeling, instead he feels a warmth in his pubis.

He slips his hand into his panties, toying with the difference in pubic hair, it’s somewhat finer, covering his pubic mound, before slipping down to meet the new unfamiliar territory of his genitals. It’s one thing to be doing this to the girls at Oxford, it’s a completely new feeling to be doing this to himself. His fingers slip further down, trailing past his clitoris, before rubbing at the outer lips of his vagina, already damp by the sensations.

Charles gently cups one breast and lightly pinches his nipple through the material, biting down on his bottom lip to try and muffle his sounds. His voice is different now, pitching a bit higher than usual, breathier - vaguely erotic he finds - as his other hand slips to brush fingers against his opening, wet already. 

The sensation makes him weak in the knees, and given that, despite his history of making women weak-kneed in Oxford, this is all rather new to him, prompting him to make himself comfortable on the bed, back resting against the headboard.

He tries again, one hand reaching down, under his panties and trails over his outer lips before pressing gently at where he’s wettest, before drawing that hand out to bring his fingers upwards rubbing thumb and forefinger together. Charles darts his tongue out to taste himself, salt and musk, not unpleasant to his palate. He laves at his first two fingers, to get them nice and wet, force of habit. He rubs his thighs together, going by the feeling down there, he may not actually need the additional lubrication. As he sucks on his fingers, his minds trails over to Erik’s hands -- long, tapered fingers, definitely longer and broader than his now, idly wondering it it would feel any more different in his mouth, in this form.

The same hand trails down beneath his panties again, to curl at his clitoris, rubbing gently before going down further, pressing gently at his wet entrance, dipping in, teasing himself, before pressing in a little deeper, relishing in the feel of being filled with his fingers. He’s wet enough that he takes two fingers easily, fingers brushing against moist, damp heat, rubbing against sensitive nerve endings, which startles a high-pitched whine from the back of his throat.

It’s not quite enough and he works his fingers in and out, thumb rubbing circles on his clitoris as his other hand kneads his breasts, teasing by pinching and rolling his nipples through his brasserie. But what about Erik’s, he wonders. What would those fingers feel like, working him over. It would be longer, able to reach more places than his shorter fingers. Which prompts him to think about other things, like Erik’s cock and how would it feel, pressing against him, splitting him open as he works Charles over and over and it’s enough to push him over, coming all over his fingers, as he works them frantically deeper, spilling wetness over them and soaking his panties.

The orgasm makes him even more sensitive. It’s so different, as though his skin is covered over in gooseflesh, nipples impossibly tight and hard, rubbing up against the satin as he heaves for breath, which makes it more difficult as the sensations excite him further and he’s got fingers down there again, rubbing frantically against his clitoris and it doesn’t take a lot before he’s coming all over again, spilling more wetness. He throws his head back as he writhes over the bed again, feeling foreign muscles rippling inside as he rides the high of his second orgasm.

Desperate to chase that high again, he brings up his hand to pluck at one nipple while shoving three fingers deep into his cunt, no finesse now, almost doubling over with the thoughts of Erik doing this to him, mouth curved over his breast, sucking on him while working him over with his cock, fucking him hard, pressing deeper, and he’s coming again, all over his fingers, gasping in the still of the room. Aching in new and foreign places with his wet panties too uncomfortable, pressing stickily against his vagina, he tries to get them off. Only to be thwarted by the straps holding his stockings on, he blunders with the claps by succeeds in getting his knickers off. In hindsight he’s lucky the stockings didn’t tear. The cool air is soothing versus the heat in his skin, and he fumbles with the clasps of his bra, letting them loose and just pants for breath.

Later when he’s finally caught his breath, Charles drowses. He’ll get up later, have a proper shower before redressing himself to find Erik and continue on the recruitment trip.

The clack of the latch on the door is what stirs Charles awake. Startled, he makes a mad dash to the bathroom. He doesn’t want to face Erik in his full glory just yet, stumbling like a newborn fawn into the shower. He wonders if Erik would be able to smell the scent of sex in the air, but chooses to ignore the implications, burying his head under the spray of the shower. He remains in the bathroom until he feels Erik drifting off to sleep.

He tosses and turns all night, unused to sleeping flat on his back; uncomfortable on his front with his breasts pressed. When dawn’s light peeks through the curtains, Charles gives up all pretence of a light doze. At least this way he’ll be able to get dressed before Erik wakes up.

Just as he finally manages to get the clasps of the damned brasserie done, he feels Erik’s mind unfurl sleepily. Still trying to delay the inevitable, he tries to ignore Erik. 

Erik, who is still drowsing, watches Charles pull the stockings on. 

His thoughts are soft and blurry as he admires Charles’ form, thinking about trailing his hands up his calves and skimming them down his thighs to linger before caressing that little bit of skin above the stockings, tugging the stockings down to reveal more skin for him to press kisses into.

As he slides the garter belt on, standing to fasten the snaps properly, Erik’s interest peaks. Coming fully awake now, thinking now of sliding his hands up further as he noses towards what lies between his thighs, scenting Charles, wondering if it’ll be any different, laying butterfly kisses followed by his lips, seeking out to taste Charles.

He throws his shields up hastily before arousal gets the better of him, deciding that they really should be out of here soon. He throws on the rest of his garments, prompting Erik to finally get up and perform his morning ablutions.

Ironic, how much of a married couple they resemble, Charles muses, watching Erik check-out at the counter while he remains by bags like a dutiful wife.

As Erik makes his way back to him, he’s aware of Erik trying and failing to be subtle in observing the differences in his forms, the curves of his breasts, _how much different would it feel pressed against his chest,_ the span of his waist in Erik’s hands, before trailing down to Charles hips and the juncture between his legs - does he taste different now? Curiosity mingled with lewdness in his thoughts.

Had this been anyone else, he’d have been appalled. But this is Erik. Erik who is still thinking about touching him, tasting him, wanting him regardless of which form he is in. The very thought makes Charles hot all over.

They step outside towards the rental car, but not before he disappears into the bathroom to remove his knickers, the car ride should be interesting to say the least.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful betas **redacted** and **redacted** for nitpicking everything for me. They made the fic a lot better. 
> 
> Trust me on that.


End file.
